


Didn't See It Coming

by junkverse



Series: The Comeback Kid [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, fun with sign language, post ep 7, well. "fun"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkverse/pseuds/junkverse
Summary: In which that panic attack in the garage triggers something else.(Or: Yuuri has a sensory overload episode not long after getting silver at the Cup of China.)





	

It had been a long day. To say the least.

Yuuri had, maybe, gotten an hour or two of actual sleep. Coffee had done nothing to alleviate his exhaustion (although it’d done a _wonderful_ job of making Yuuri feel like he was vibrating at the cellular level), and that impromptu nap hadn’t been much more helpful. He’d crashed and burned at warm-up, and the crowds in the stands and the press and the TVs in the waiting areas were so _loud_ , loud enough that Yuuri had turned off as many of the displays he could just to get a reprieve from the noise, but even with that he’d felt hyperaware of _everything_ , from the chatter around him to the barest fold of his costume. And then Viktor had taken him down to the parking garage to finish warming up, and-

-well. Yuuri was a little surprised it had taken him that long to cry, if he was honest.

The crying helped. His throat being raw from crying and yelling at Viktor (stupid, _stupid_ Viktor) helped too, oddly. It made everything farther away. Manageable. He walked to the rink, Viktor silent beside him, got ready. Guards off, jacket off, onto the ice. He could hear the announcers over the speakers, but the sound was meaningless.

He poked Viktor’s hair just before drifting to his start position. An afterthought, but it was something to get back at him a little. And let him know that Yuuri was okay.

Well. Relatively okay.

Yuuri stood at the center of the ice. He breathed in, let the cold fill him, breathed out.

The music started. He skated.

Yuuri was in his own head for most of it, his body flowing through the routine of its own accord. He could hear the music, but it meant nothing, the notes slurring together. He flubbed a triple, and another, but it didn’t have the sting it usually did. Through the almost dissociative calm, there was a spark of wanting to be better, and it drove him. 

And underneath that, a thought.

_Oh, I wonder how’d Viktor would react if…_

He spun through his step sequence, the cheering of the crowd faint in his ears, readied himself for the quad flip, kicked a toe into the ice, and-

-crashed, recovered, but the crowd _screamed_ , Yuuri reeling for a moment at the sudden force of the sound. But he kept on, spinning into the end, and slowed, one hand over his heart, the other reaching towards Viktor.

Viktor had his hands over his eyes, and a sudden wave of fresh panic washed over Yuuri - _Is he crying? Is he mad?_ \- that broke as Viktor sprinted towards him. He staggered from his end position, feet stumbling, trying to follow Viktor as he ran to the kiss and cry. Viktor got to the gate, gasping for air, holding onto the boards.

“Viktor!” Yuuri said, grinning, arms raised, “I did great, right?”

He saw Viktor’s expression for a moment -pride, satisfaction, and something else that Yuuri couldn’t identify- and then-

-the weight of Viktor slamming into him, warm and immediate, Viktor’s hands around his neck and head, his impossibly blue eyes, and his _lips_ -

-they crashed back onto the ice. It should’ve hurt, but Yuuri couldn’t feel it. He blinked, arms and legs refusing to move. He felt Viktor shift, his gloved hands slipping on the ice, and Viktor was looking down at him, eyes shining with something unspoken.

“This was the only way I could think of to surprise you more than you surprised me,” Viktor said, and Yuuri could’ve sworn he almost sounded sheepish.

“Well,” Yuuri said, his smile tired and fond, “it worked.”

Viktor smiled back, warm and loving in a way that made Yuuri’s heart stutter, and he felt more awake, more present than he had all day. Viktor helped Yuuri to his feet, and the panic, the tears, seemed so distant that they didn’t matter. There was just the two of them, surrounded by a roaring crowd, and the ghost of Viktor’s lips on his.

 

This did not last.

Yuuri should’ve expected it. Good things didn’t stick around for him, generally speaking. But he was riding off a high, dazzled and light and buzzing with joy. Viktor had kissed him (nevermind that they had both done far more than that before), kissed him for the whole world to see, and that was better than all the medals in the world.

He stepped off from the podium, Phichit clapping him on the shoulder in congratulations, and Yuuri smiled at him, laughing, but something was… off. His hands were… not numb, exactly, but slow. Feet, too. Yuuri shrugged it off, but then he stepped off the ice and the press was there, cameras and bright lights and-

It was like there had been a tether keeping Yuuri grounded. It had been slowly thinning and fraying all day, and then it finally… snapped.

Yuuri froze. His breath caught in his throat, chest tight and painful. The ache of his joints was suddenly more immediate, the cold of the rink now too sharp and too close. His costume was suffocating, his skates weights that bit into overworked feet. It was like someone had turned up the volume all the way on _everything_ , all at once, every stimuli blaring to the point of pain. Yuuri staggered, grabbed onto the rink barriers, struggling to breathe. He thought he heard Viktor speak, but it was lost in the rush of sensation, language blurring into meaningless noise. 

For a hideous moment there was nothing but Yuuri, locked up and shuddering, unable to do anything under the weight of feeling.

“-uuri? _Yuuri?”_

Yuuri came back to himself, piece by piece. He was aware of a hand on his back, the sensation so distant and muffled it might’ve been imagined. There was sweat dripping down his face -or was it tears? Definitely tears, his eyes were stinging, and his throat was tight, like it got right after a long crying jag. Everything still hurt, but he could think. Kind of.

Yuuri carefully raised his head. A far-off part of him was glad he didn’t have his glasses on; the new visual information would’ve sent him spiraling back off into overload. A lot of people, he could tell that much, backed away now. Some cameras, some skaters. Everything else was made colorful blobs by his nearsightedness. Viktor hovered at the edge of his field of vision, his outline blurred by tears. A wave of nausea lurched through Yuuri, and he dipped his head, focusing on the ground.

He heard Viktor speak, but the words didn’t mean anything -it sounded wrong, like someone had scrambled the vowels and consonants together. Yuuri wanted to answer, ask for clarification, but his own words were long gone, and his hands felt slow and stupid.

A hand came into his field of vision -Viktor’s. Yuuri watched as Viktor fingerspelled _overloaded_ , slow and clear. He nodded, and Viktor fingerspelled again: _hotel_. Yuuri nodded again, and was dimly aware of the strangled, grateful noise he made. The hand at his back pressed gently, and Yuuri began to stagger forward.

Yuuri would recall their exit later as snapshots, snippets of perception: walking back to the lockers, Viktor gingerly prying his skates off, Viktor helping him into a cab. The glass of the cab cold against his forehead, some pop music playing over the radio, garbled by static. The hotel lobby, lights too bright, the lurching ride in the elevator, and finally, their room.

Yuuri sat on the edge of one of the beds. The room was cool, quiet. Viktor turned on one of the lamps, but the light was dim enough that it didn’t bother Yuuri much. Yuuri found that he could breathe properly now, though sometimes he found the air catching in his throat, like he was about to cry again. He felt worn, scrubbed raw and wrung out, and he was so _tired_.

Viktor knelt in front of him, and Yuuri could see the worry and fright etched clear in Viktor’s expression.

 _What do you need?_ Viktor signed.

Yuuri thought for a moment, the gears in his head almost grinding at the effort. He slowly raised his hands and signed, _Quiet. Dark. Sleep._

Viktor nodded. _Clothes off or on?_

_Off._

Viktor got up, and helped Yuuri peel off his clothes. Viktor’s hands were quick, the zippers of his jacket and costume parting, cloth falling away. Yuuri shivered as the cold air met his skin, sighed in relief when he was finally down to his underwear. Viktor murmured something, his tone apologetic, but Yuuri couldn’t muster the energy to decipher what he’d said. He fell back onto the bed, not bothering to draw the covers over himself, and let the dark of sleep finally take him.

 

It wasn’t quite dawn when Yuuri woke up.

His head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton, coherent thought taking an immense amount of effort, but he didn’t hurt. Not much, anyway -his feet and knees and hips ached, but that was expected. He wasn’t cold; Yuuri shifted and realized that Viktor had gotten the covers around him sometime after he’d passed out. Hunger gnawed at him, and Yuuri dimly recalled just how little he’d eaten the day before, afraid that he would just throw it up.

Well. Not the worst thing that could’ve happened, in retrospect.

Yuuri fumbled in the general direction of the nightstand, found his glasses and phone. There were a few messages waiting for him -his family, Minako, Phichit, all of them varying degrees of congratulatory and worried. Yuuri began to type out a response, but the prospect of making words happen suddenly seemed daunting. He set the phone back down. It could wait, or he could dictate to Viktor.

Yuuri looked at the other bed -empty, covers tossed aside. He glanced at the bathroom door and noted the light peeking out from the jamb, the faint sound of running water. He sighed, curling back up into the sheets. The shower was a faint, soothing thrum, and Yuuri was almost dozing again by the time Viktor emerged from the bathroom.

“Yuuri?” Viktor said. “You awake?”

Yuuri grunted an affirmative before sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. Viktor was wearing a robe, his expression something between relief and worry.

“How’re you feeling?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri made a vague _ehhhh_ noise while wiggling a hand back and forth. Viktor laughed, soft and low.

“In the mood for room service?” Viktor asked.

 _Please,_ Yuuri signed. After a moment, he added, _Nothing complicated._

“You got it,” Viktor said. He gestured towards the bathroom. “Go clean up, and I’ll order us breakfast.”

Yuuri grumbled, but got up. The prospect of standing under a showerhead (water hot, stinging) didn’t sound great, but he was slowly becoming aware of his still-gelled hair, how it prickled and itched against his skin, and how he smelled, and letting that go on sounded even less appealing.

The shower ended up being a fine idea. It woke Yuuri up, cleared his head a bit, helped loosen his stiff muscles. Everything was still off, but he felt more put-together, more human. He heard the door open for room service while he toweled off, and his stomach growled at the promise of food.

When he emerged, Viktor was arranging breakfast on his newly-made bed, carefully balancing plates and cutlery on the covers. The robe was gone, replaced by a shirt and sweatpants. Viktor hummed something (a waltz, Yuuri thought) as he worked, and Yuuri felt a rush of affection under the lingering brain fog and fatigue.

Yuuri walked back to his side of the room, shed the towel and stepped into underwear and pants, slipped into a shirt. He turned, and saw Viktor looking up at him, legs folded, expectant.

“So, I got you an omelet,” Viktor said, “the American sort, they… didn’t really have anything like tamagoyaki. And some fruit, hope that’s okay.”

Yuuri nodded as he sat down, taking care not to jostle the dishes, and gave Viktor a thumbs-up. _Why on the bed?_ he signed.

“Oh. Well,” Viktor said, “I thought breakfast in bed would be nice, but they didn’t have those folding trays, so I improvised.”

The rush of affection came back, and Yuuri smiled. _Thank you._

“You’re welcome,” Viktor said, smiling back.

They ate for a little while in companionable silence. The food was good, mild enough that it didn’t bother Yuuri (what an absurd reality, to have to worry about being overwhelmed by too much salt.) The hunger abated, slowly, and Yuuri felt more like himself.

After a time Yuuri noticed that Viktor seemed oddly contemplative, solemn, and tapped a plate to get his attention. Viktor looked up, his serious expression flowing into his usual smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 _What’s up?_ Yuuri signed.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Viktor said, waving his fork dismissively.

 _Liar,_ Yuuri signed, frowning. _What’s up?_

A bit of the solemnity crept back into Viktor’s expression, and he set his fork down. He didn’t speak at first, and Yuuri waited for him to find what he needed to say.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said.

 _For what?_ Yuuri signed.

“I should’ve… I’m supposed to help you. Build your confidence.” Viktor swallowed. “But I just made it worse.”

_It’s okay._

“It’s… it’s really not,” Viktor said, huffing a brief, pained laugh. “I made you cry! And I thought you were in the clear after I… we kissed, but then-” His features contorted into a pinched, frightened expression, his voice agitated, “I didn’t- I mean I knew you have trouble when you get overwhelmed, and that it could be bad, but I didn’t think it’d get-”

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, the name coming out odd and slurred.

“- _that_ bad, at least the first time you could understand me when I talked, but last night you were just _gone,_ and-”

“ _Viktor,_ ” Yuuri said, clearer and louder this time.

Viktor stopped, mid-sentence. The frightened look folded into a guilty expression, lips pressed together.

“Listen,” Yuuri said, with great effort, “Y-you’re still l-l-” He sighed, shaking his head, and signed, _You’re still learning. We both are._

“I know, but-”

Yuuri waved him off, making a shushing noise, and continued, _you messed up. But you’re trying. That’s all I could ask for._ He took one of Viktor’s hands in his own, threading their fingers together in an echo of how they held hands at competition.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri repeated.

They shared silence for a minute or two, their hands laced together.

“I’m a mess,” Viktor eventually said, his voice soft. “ _We’re_ a mess. Aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “But…” He stopped, not quite able to get the rest out. So he untangled his hand from Viktor’s and signed, _No one else I want to be a mess with._

Viktor stared, and for a moment Yuuri thought that maybe he had signed too fast or maybe Viktor simply hadn’t understood. But Viktor’s expression melted into a soft fondness, lips curling into a smile. He reached, taking one of Yuuri’s hands and kissing his knuckles.

“I’ll do better,” Viktor said, “for you. For both of us.” He squeezed Yuuri’s hand, gently. “I promise.”

Yuuri smiled, squeezed back. He was tired, worn out, and still not altogether there, but love bubbled up underneath the fatigue, and it buoyed him. They’d still have to get home, brave the airport, which Yuuri wasn’t looking forward to. But for now, there was the two of them, sharing breakfast in a hotel room in China, holding hands.

And Yuuri wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> At last, updated this series!
> 
> title is from the Belle & Sebastian song of the same name, from the album _Write About Love_.
> 
> ngl, this one was sort of a response/reaction to all the fic of Viktor and Yuuri getting it on the day of the Cup of China. Which is fine! But it always struck me as... mm, kind of odd, considering what Yuuri had gone through earlier that day? The comedown from a panic attack isn't particularly sexy, in my experience. (Again, not a knock against fic set during that time frame, just. something I noticed.)
> 
> My thanks to Al and Adrian for beta-reading this for flow and character writing, y'all are the best.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, and thanks for reading.
> 
> (you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/junkverse))


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